ARAS Connections Issue 2, 2016 INTRODUCTION TO THE KORE Story/persephone’s dog Craig San Roque - 1 ARAS Connections Issue 2, 2016 . .we are dreaming creatures . (Salman Rushdie, BBC radio, 17 September 2012) On the poetics of being Imagine original beings walking the earth, archetypal forms in the making, emerging out of the land. Emerging simultaneously from the human psyche. You might ask – am I discovering these beings walking toward me across the land, or am I creating them? It is a human thing to dream creatures. Yet perhaps not every original being is invented by human beings. Perhaps the force of nature has a life of its own and comes to meet us in forms that nature chooses, firing our imagination as it does so. A special kind of sung poetry has developed among many peoples of the world that mingles the reality that we see with the reality that we create. There may not be one clear term in the English language that describes this intermingling of that which we imagine and that which is independently there. I prefer the term ontopoiesis – or, more simply, ontopoetic – suggesting a mingling of the Greek concept ontos (“that which is” – “I am” or “being”) with poiesis ( indicating “com- ing into being” – “creation” or “bringing forth”). Together these words ontos and poiesis synchronize into a sense of the poetic, creative relationships between beings. This intermingling is an intricate etymologi- cal and psychological matter and my sentence here merely hints at the subtlety of ontopoetics. Let us say that the term draws our attention to the poetic infrastructure of creation, the beauty and symmetry that may be found in the order of an insect, in the structure of seeds, in the composition of bird song, in the camouflage speckle on the skin of trout or deer . And then there is the response that a human being makes to these symmetries, for the human is a part of this design. 2 ARAS Connections Issue 2, 2016 I seek for words in English that hold the notion of human communicative participation in the breath of nature, in the walking of archetypal forms, moments when human creatures and nature’s forces collaborate, comingle. The philosopher Freya Mathews coined this term – the ontopoetic, lovingly acknowledging that the world itself is open – “intimately psycho-active and disposed toward communica- tive engagement with us.”1 This Kore Story is, for me, subjectively, an instance of ontopoetic collaboration. It was composed at a marvelous ancient site, with no preconceived expectation. I had prepared the ground, as a painter prepares a canvas, but the words began to flow from voices in my inner ear, describing to me the two women traveling in that landscape at Delphi; and I obeyed, writing down the lines as though from dictation. A note on style and context The style of this text follows the mode I developed for the Dionysos/Sugarman performances in Central Australia, in 1996-–9, two extracts from which appear in this volume as the invocatory Creation Story and the closing Traveling Ariadne. The mode is influenced by the rhythmic, colloquial humor of local storytellers. The narrative structures of Kore Story echo, but do not copy, the tone, simplicity of movement, and repetition that you might hear in Australian indigenous ceremo- nial song cycles. These involve chanted verses, accompanied by rhythmic beat and dance, revealing specific acts and travels of mythic, original creation beings. Such activities take place in ancient or ancestral time and continue in the present. Cultural lore and memory is held in place through such story/song lines, known in some Central Australian desert languages as Jukurrpa or Altjerre. These are the creation sagas of a hunter-gatherer people who live off the land.2 Similar compositions of cultural lore and memory are held in the song cycles and mythic narratives of old Europe. The Demeter/Persephone myth is one such cycle. A traditional version comes down to us through the Homeric Hymns. More primitive or folkloric forms of this story would have been circulating among the peoples whose hands were accustomed to digging the earth, bringing plants and vines to fruition. It is likely that the Demeter/Persephone story is located histori- cally and mythically at a time of crucial transition in European life. It is a poetic account of the experience of peoples moving from the hunter-gatherer way of life toward a settled agricultural way of life. I acknowledge the influence of Australian indigenous style and ontology upon my (echo) version of the Persephone story. The connection between ancient Greece and modern Australia is made for practical reasons. It is about hunger. This re-visioned story forms part of a contemporary food-security and land-use project in which I am involved in arid Central Australian Aboriginal regions.3 The project is concerned with how people in remote areas of Australia can produce decent and nutritious food from their land, now that traditional hunting is unreliable. Food supply has become an acute problem in Aboriginal life. Remote area food stores 3 ARAS Connections Issue 2, 2016 are very expensive, fresh food is hard to get, processed sugar-rich foodstuffs and alcohol generate diabetes and obesity. The rigor of walking for hunting and gather- ing has been replaced by the convenience of motor vehicles and shops. My purpose here is not to explain in detail the circumstances and complicated nature of developing and managing agricultural (and pastoral) developments on indigenous land in Central Australia – but these matters lie behind my interest in revisiting the European-Caucasian transition from a hunter-gather life to an agricultural life. Suffice it to say that a hunter-gatherer society develops specific, pragmatic ways of organizing land, waters, and social systems for food gather- ing and distribution. By contrast, farming/pastoral/industrial societies organize land, resources, and social relationships for food production and distribution in a different way. Over many generations people get into the habit of thinking as hunters or as farmers. The occupation breeds a mentality. If circumstances begin to change . if people lose control over their own food production and/or lose con- trol over their own land and waters and trade . if the way of thinking upon which they depend becomes redundant . what happens then? In Aboriginal Australia, there is acute and insidious conflict arising around this theme – hunter-gatherer practices are forced to give way to an industrialized food- supply system over which the hunters and gatherers have little or no control. The shop gives you food in exchange for money. The shop is not moved by “increase ceremonies,” and it matters not that the old man who bellies up to the shop counter is a man with vast cultural knowledge, who, in a hunter-gatherer economy would be supplied with food by men he had initiated into esoteric knowledge. Now there is no opportunity for trade, for the white people own the goods and the means of production. The equation of “food for money” and “money for work” is the equa- tion that rules. In Aboriginal Central Australia, the rules of food gathering are changing – including the rules of food distribution among specific kin – a system that prevails in the carefully managed indigenous hunter-gatherer economy. Furthermore, a cohesive poetic of being interweaves hunter-gatherer management of land, water, fire, animals, and the processes of natural cycles. Swift and blunt economic change, however, is changing the hunter-gatherer economy and the embedded ontopoetic mentality, as represented in the songs and ceremonies of Jukurrpa/Altjerre. Psychologically, the hunters now rattle around in a state of cultural anxiety, marked by a sullen kind of existential anguish, intoxication, interpersonal violence, and passive aggression. This is not surprising. Well then, how does an Australian hunter-gatherer family group get to think and work like a European farming family and run an agricultural company? Making a successful transition in civilization from one form of food production to another is not simple. How does one move from hunting to animal husbandry, from gather- ing to planting and cultivation? How long might it have taken the Caucasian or Semitic peoples to make that change? In what circumstances? By what steps did that adaptation proceed? Such questions are a part of the context of this Kore Story. 4 ARAS Connections Issue 2, 2016 Cultural mentalities Consider how the stories of the Peoples of the Book are entwined with the story of pastoralists and farmers. Many Judeo-Christian spiritual metaphors are linked to land-use. The histories of the Children of Abraham, the parables of Jesus, the metaphors of sacrifice, the lamb, the shepherd, the vine, the bread and the blood, are metaphors specific to a mentality formed by the everyday processes of cultiva- tion, animal husbandry, land management, flock management, the settlement, and the kinship systems of such cultures. Indigenous Australian culture evolved from an entirely different system of environmental management. Thus do their mentali- ties differ. A cultural mentality slowly becomes encoded into myth. This is why I am exploring a cultural story (a myth) from the time when the Caucasians changed food production toward agriculture. Australian indigenous people also structure law and culture around myths. A people’s mentality is revealed in the myths upon which they draw. The old Demeter Persephone/Triptolemus story marks a significant point of transition in European civilization. Understanding that historical transition may empathically help us appreciate the difficulty and the potential of what is being experienced today among Australian Aboriginal people, especially in settings where agricultural projects are being ambivalently developed around specific indigenous communities north of Alice Springs (Ti Tree and Ali Curung).